


When In Rome

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Future, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-21
Updated: 2008-04-21
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:32:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian and Justin visit the Sistine Chapel.





	When In Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

 

To call it overwhelming was a massive understatement: what Justin was feeling was magnificence, painted onto walls and ceilings; careful, painstakingly perfect brushstrokes that have so much meaning, colors and people and images with so much spirituality contained within them that it was too much and not enough all at once. All of a sudden he couldn’t breathe, felt sick. Brian took his hand and led him over to a small space where crowds sat and stared, trying to ingest this while at the same time not believing its immensity, its sheer power. Brian sat down and leaned back against the wall, pulling Justin into him. He didn’t care that the suited Italian bodyguards were giving him looks filled with disdain. They couldn’t do jack shit, Brian figured he could take them with one punch to the jawline, all three of them if he had to. Justin was close to freaking, he was tense and joyful and insanely close to feeling everything at once, and it was all Brian could do to just hold him, quiet the thoughts running full speed ahead in his brain. Brian stretched out his jean-clad legs as far as he could without intentionally tripping the glut of American tourists constantly piling in and wrapped Justin in his arms, brushing his lips against the side of his face. 

“Focus on one thing, Justin. A person, an object. Look at it and focus.” Truth be told Brian had no idea what the fuck to say. He wasn’t in his element, art and religion being two things he wasn’t truly acquainted with. But he knew Justin. Justin was dreaming of this for a long time, and the realization of this dream was something he couldn’t handle on his own. 

Justin seemed to be calming down. He closed his eyes and turned to back to Brian. “I can’t believe I’m here,” he whispered, the words sounding soft and faint to Brian. Brian just stared at him. Justin opened his eyes and stared back, pulling his lips into his mouth and feeling Brian’s fingers trace his cheekbones, then his palm gently cupping his left cheek. He didn’t think any words were really necessary and he was grateful. He spoke to Justin through touches, through that nonverbal spark they shared, and Brian quickly thanked the Man above that Justin didn’t need him to say anything then. Justin finally started to relax, leaning into Brian’s touch. 

Faces faded away and he finally felt only Brian’s touch, heard only Brian’s words, and saw, for the first time, the humanity Michelangelo wanted everyone to feel, to know. It was more than God and the Bible and scenes of the creation of mankind. It was something close to peace, to a palpable feeling of everyone on earth being connected. He opened his eyes and leaned back just a little bit more into Brian, tugging his hand into Brian’s, their fingers gently resting together as they sat on the floor of the Sistine Chapel. He decided to take Brian’s advice and focus on one thing. He looked up, to Michelangelo’s understanding of how people felt, how he felt, and Brian felt, and saw, instead of a mind-numbing mix of figures, a man, sitting at a desk. He appeared to be reading a book, dressed in colorful, swirling robes. His hair was brown, lighter than Brian’s, and he had a gold band around the front of his head. He was young, maybe a little younger than himself, and Justin saw him. He took this figure in and didn’t care about the name underneath. It didn’t matter, because this guy was someone who walked the earth long ago. It didn’t matter, because Justin understood the ceiling to depict people. They were of religious origin, and this was a holy place. For Justin, this was an analysis of people. People who were forming their own judgments, people wanting to be smarter and better, people who defied their God and broke free of the chains they felt around their wrists. Justin viewed art much like a psychologist viewed their patients. He didn’t see the past history as the most important feature, rather, the present, what he felt, thought, saw, was all that mattered. 

For a second he forgot his own name, and then felt the simple flutter of Brian’s fingers against his own, and his heart slowed down.


End file.
